The John Watson File
by I.will.be.your.Ghostkeeper
Summary: A little Johnlock oneshot I wrote this weekend. John comes to a decision about Sherlock, and now he needs to find the courage, and the time, to tell him. Bit angsty but not too much, more contemplative I would say.


**_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, nor am I attempting to make monetary gain with this work.  
_**_Author's Note: This is just a little experiment I wanted to do with formatting. Sadly it did not work out. I wanted to do it with indents, like in a novel, does anyone know how to do that on here? Reviews be appreciated concerning all of it though!_

I

** E**arly morning birdsong and commuters were the dominating sounds. The commuters are trying to avoid rush hour by leaving a few hours early and staying off the main streets as they pass under the open window.  
The coffee in front of him is inviting, but he doesn't touch it. He'd just be drinking it to give himself something to do, something to try and still the apprehension. He hopes it's one of the days Sherlock decides to sleep in.

He cursed himself. Why did he have to even think about it? Why did this-after he had tried so hard to stop it- happen?  
'_Just stop thinking about it!' _He told himself.  
_~You aren't thinking about it though, you're feeling it. You can't stop what you feel, John.~  
_'_I've done it before, I can do it again.'  
__~Don't lie to **yourself**~  
_John glanced at the coffee and took a sip. He listened for the sound that would mean Sherlock was awake. Nothing, sleeping then.  
'_Ha. See, nothing to worry about. he'll sleep in all day and you can'-_Whatever John thought he was going to be able to do will never be known. There were footsteps on the stairs. Sherlock's footsteps. What was he going to do?  
_~Do? You're going to tell him~  
_John ran a hand through his hair to mess it a bit, and made sure to look much more interested in his coffee, even if it was nervous-drinking. Sherlock got to the final stair and came into view, unbuttoning his jacket as he came in. He stopped short when he saw John. Frowned.

"You're up early." He commented as he hung up his coat. John looked, as blearily as he could muster, at the clock.

"It's already six.."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You haven't just woken up, if you had you'd be grumpier.

"Where were you?" John asked.

"Out." Sherlock replied as he went into his bedroom. John flipped open his computer and looked up the news. Not that he was really reading it.

"I don't want to see any clients today, John." Sherlock announced from the bedroom. It was John's turn to frown.

"Do we have a case?"

"No, I want the day off." He said, coming out of the bedroom. John studied Sherlock for a moment, sure he wasn't being as thorough as Sherlock would be.

"Are you sick?"

"I don't get sick."  
John started to speak and then stopped himself and instead said, "Alright then." He went back to his coffee and opened his laptop.

'_Don't even start.' _He told himself as he decided that today, nothing would change between him and his best friend.

II

"**I**f you hadn't wanted to come in the first place, we wouldn't be here right now." Sherlock yelled from inside the car. John didn't even look at Sherlock. He knew it was his fault, but Sherlock didn't need to throw it in his face. The worst part was that just before it happened, as they were driving pleasantly through the country, he was about to tell Sherlock what had been bothering him for the past few weeks.

He kept telling himself it made no sense. It wasn't logical. He told himself that he could never understand Sherlock, he could never give him anything more than he already had. He had nothing left to give. And here they were, stranded on the side of the road with a flat, and no spare, and it was raining heavily. John huffed into his hands to warm them before opening the driver side door.

"We need to start walking." He told Sherlock, who was sitting in the passenger seat still.

"I know that." Sherlock snapped. John shut the door and shoved his hands into his Haversack jacket before he began walking back to the small countryside town they had been leaving. He heard Sherlock open and shut his door, followed by his brisk footsteps to catch up with John.

He clicked the automatic lock button on the fob he had for the buick and prayed it would still be there when they got back. At least they weren't facing into the rain. He looked down at the ground as he walked, gravel, then around him. Countryside. Empty, rolling fields and a smattering of woodland. Everything overcast and everything that could be get wet was wet.

"We'll probably have to stay the night." Sherlock said as they walked. The heavy wind was beating through their jackets where it could and throwing Sherlock's hair forward.

"Yeah." John agreed bleakly.

"John, you know I hate the country."

"Yes, Sherlock. You have made that _well _known." John said, his agitation clear. "But if you hate it so much, you didn't have to come."

"I thought it was important to you."

John walked a bit faster. "It was."

"And isn't now?" Sherlock pressed. John hesitated, he wasn't sure they were talking about the trip out to the country anymore. John had wanted to go to a specialty tea shop that was there. He exhaled evenly. It was getting out of hand. It wasn't right, wasn't a good time. It was going to hell and he didn't know how to answer without making it worse.

"I don't know."

"John, either it's important, or it isn't." Sherlock said, adjusting his scarf against the cold.

"Fine! It's important, but I don't want to talk about it." John said, with finality. As they walked the 20 kilometres, it got windier and colder as the sun they couldn't see started setting.

"Here," Sherlock said, passing John his gloves.

"Its fine." John replied, looking over at him.

"If I decide my hands get too cold, I can always ask for them back." John took them, his hand brushing Sherlock's but neither of them noticing. His fingers warmed up a bit more with the gloves on.

"Thanks."

III

**H**e looked quickly down at the time on his watch; 10:37 P.M. They had been there for an hour now. Daniel Isom had asked for their aid in finding his missing brother, Sean Isom. Daniel sat anxiously on his brothers satee, while Sherlock and John went through the downtown-ground level-apartment.

He was getting impatient, they hadn't found anything useful, the client was hovering, and Sherlock wasn't saying anything. John turned to Daniel Isom.

"Sorry we haven't found anything yet. It's fairly late, if you want we can finish up here and lock up when we're done."  
"Yes-yes that would be lovely." replied, sounding grateful, as he got up. He left the house key on the island in the kitchen before leaving.

"Can you stop doing that?" Sherlock asked as soon as the youngest Isom brother had left.

"Stop doing what?" John demanded.

"Being agitated, it's distracting."

"Well excuse me then." John said, and walked out into the dark garden. The night air was cool, but not cold, against his skin. He felt the rush of the city a few blocks away, the small pathway pebbles, the street lamp shone enough light into the yard he could tell they were black, under his feet. He smelt the fresh and slightly heavy scent of Jasmine flowers. He hadn't said anything to Sherlock, and contrary to what any media he had ever been exposed to said, including the talk of his friends and family, keeping his silence was not 'eating him alive'. It was difficult, but there if there was a time and place for telling your best friend you thought you were in love with them, John hadn't come across it yet. John also wasn't one hundred percent sure that Sherlock didn't already know.  
_~Don't be stupid, of course he knows!~  
__'He didn't know for the longest time that Molly was interested in him, why should he notice with me?'  
__~Oh please, stop the self pity already, would you? It's not very becoming.~  
__'Piss off.'  
__~Fine.~  
_John exhaled heavily, trying to ease his mind, his impatience, his desire.  
_~ You won't be able to blame me when this blows up and you're holding the short straw~  
__'We're the same person!' _John retorted, to himself.  
_~Correct, but I'm the part of you that is logic. Hmm.. Logic, isn' that what Sherlock likes?~  
__'I'm pretty sure I told you to piss off.'_

That was part of it too, his desire. It wasn't just physical, in fact he would say most of his attraction and desire towards Sherlock leaned towards the unphysical. He had no delusions about how attractive Sherlock was, but it was more than that.

John turned his head to glance inside the house at Sherlock, who was still hard at work examining the contents of Sean Isom's computer hard drive. It was going to be a long night.

IV

** A**pparently chasing down criminals was what they did, and apparently it isn't uncommon for those criminals to lead you on a wild chase around the city. John and Sherlock were shin-deep in London's sewage system, with only one flashlight and one firearm between them. Sherlock had the flashlight, John had the gun. They were trying to keep quiet while sloshing.

"On the positive side, if we're making this much noise, so is he." John whispered. Sherlock gave him a look that translated to "Yes, but shut it." A few moments later, Sherlock raised his hand in a 'stop' signal. John heard boots on metal. The man they were chasing was climbing a ladder, but from where? Before John could figure it out, Sherlock was leading them down a tunnel to the left. The ladder was only a few meters away. John quickened his pace and climbed up the ladder after the man, Sherlock following behind and pointing the flashlight up.  
_'I can't take that shot clinging to a ladder.'  
__~You're just don't want to shoot him. Plus, if you did, it's like he would fall on you. Better to get a move on and chase him down in the open, or at least where he can't fall on you.~  
_John double checked by touch that the safety was on and tucked the weapon in the holster. Hauling ass up a slimy sewage ladder with dim lighting wasn't the most disgusting thing John had ever done, but he didn't want to do a repeat either. Daylight poured down as the criminal pushed the manhole cover off and sprinted down the street John cursed as he heard the heavy traffic. Not only were they were covered in waste, garbage and who knows what else, they were also about to emerge onto a busy street where it would be easy to get run over. Part of him hoped that's what had happened to the perpatrator.

"A nice big five-ton would do." John muttered.

"What's that?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing, just watch it as you come out, it sounds busy." John looked around frantically for their hunt. If they had lost him...  
They hadn't, he was sprinting down an alley, heading for a warehouse. "Sherlock!" John called to get his attention as he started running, dodging the angry drivers.  
They chased him into the (apparently abandoned and poorly secured) warehouse. John had the gun out and was ready when he saw him. He took the shot. The man went down with a howl as the bullet buried itself in his shin, just under the kneecap. Sherlock stared at the man as he clutched his leg, then stared at John.

"Good shot." Sherlock said, catching his breath.

"Thanks." John said, reholstering the gun and pulling out his phone. He texted the client and told him to pick the man up from the hospital. Then he called the hospital. John made sure the man wasn't going to bleed out. Sherlock tossed him the handcuffs and John clipped them on the criminal.

"Let's go." Sherlock said, starting to walk deeper into the warehouse.

"We can't just leave him." John protested.

"Is he going to live?"

"That's not the point."

Sherlock raised his eyebrow before turning around and walking away. John swore and double checked how fast the man was bleeding before following Sherlock. They went up the stairs to the next level and Sherlock sat down, his breathing evening out. John looked at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Sitting."

"Yeah, I can see that. Why?"

"We need to talk."

"We also need to shower."

Sherlock smirked. "John, I'm not kidding around. Sit down."  
John's heart rate ratcheted up. This was _not _the time; covered and stinking with sewage, adrenaline already coursing from the chase and the shootdown, in a warehouse with the parameds only a few minutes away by now.

"I thought you wanted to get out of here?"

"Changed my mind."

"It can wait until I've had a shower." John said and started walking to where he suspected an exit would be. The warehouse was bright, sunlight penetrating grimy windows or pouring in where the windows had been broken. He didn't bother trying to get a cab, he also didn't look back to see if Sherlock was following him.  
_~Congratulations, you just missed your chance to tell him without even having to say anything.~  
_John sighed as he opened the door to 221-B. As he was going inside he glanced back. Sherlock had been a few yards behind him the whole time.

V

**J**ohn had successfully avoided having that talk with Sherlock. He was currently trying to avoid having the conversation again. This time, in the laboratory of St. Bartholomew's. Sherlock was comparing blood samples.

"Aren't you trying to solve some great mystery?" John asked, trying to throw a detour route into the conversation.

"Please, _this _is easy. But we need to talk, you've been avoiding it. You're getting distracted and caught up in your emotions. You're no help to me when you're like this-"

"You don't need my help."

"-And you're being an idiot." Sherlock looked up from the microscope and at John could do was stand there, suddenly anxious and unsure what to say, again.

"What do you want me to say?"

"What's bothering you."

"Do I really need to say it?" John demanded, frustration and anger slipping and sliding against the words.

"Yes." Sherlock said, and John almost believed him.

"Sherlock I-" He lost the words.

_~I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.~  
_

" -can't." He finished lamely.

Sherlock sat very still and looked steadily at him for several long moment. "Well when you are, tell me. Until then; stop letting it cloud your judgement."

VI

** T**he flat was warm and tranquil. John glanced over at Sherlock, who was smoking a cigarette. John reached his hand out gave him a blunt look.

"I don't want to get rid of it, I want a taste of it." He said, regretting the decision already. Sherlock passed it over to him. John inhaled, then realized he was sharing a cigarette with Sherlock, that Sherlock's mouth had-  
_~Too late now~  
_He exhaled evenly and passed it back to Sherlock, who took it back gently.

"I don't want anything to change." John said finally.  
Sherlock looked at him carefully, and John could tell he was weighing his next words carefully, trying to see what effect of those words would be, before he said them.

"Who said anything had to change?" Sherlock asked, smoke curling as the cigarette burned in his hand. John stared, momentarily confused. It was just a given, things would change. They always changed when you said those... When you said that you.. He swallowed air and looked into Sherlock's eyes, then away.

"_Sherlock, I love you._" They were some of the quietest words he had ever said, but in the silence and of the flat, they seemed to echo.  
_~There isn't actually an echo in here~  
__'You're as bad as him!'  
_John lost interest in what he was talking to himself about when he saw a smile quirked at the corners of Sherlock's mouth, and then he laughed, a full bellied, deep laugh. Before John could get the wrong idea, Sherlock took one last puff of his cigarette, stubbed it out in the ashtray they had stolen from Buckingham, and gave John a quick, firm kiss on the mouth. John could taste the harsh chemical of the cigarette, the sour/sweet of tobacco, and it was gross. It was gross, but it was Sherlock.

"As do I, John." Sherlock said, smiling.

John frowned good naturedly, feigning confusion. "You love me, or yourself?"He had said it as a joke, but as soon as the words had escaped, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

"Both, of course." Sherlock laughed again, before getting up to make them some tea.

"And nothing has to change?" John asked.

Sherlock looked over at him as flicked the electrical kettle switch. "Not unless we want it to." Sherlock said, back to his logical self, though still smiling.

"Do you?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Not really, John. Things can change as they will, let's not rush or force anything."  
John smiled, and joined Sherlock in the kitchen.

_**The End**_


End file.
